


Bearing Witness

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Poltergeist: The Legacy
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Haunted House, ghost story, witnessing a murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5707048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all you have to do is watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bearing Witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spirited_lizard](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=spirited_lizard).



> Written for spirited_lizard and originally posted to Livejournal in 2009.

As Nick Boyle got out of his car and slammed the door shut he couldn’t suppress a shiver. The home in front of him was in darkness and looked uninhabitable, but he knew with a certainty borne from experience that he was being watched by long dead eyes.

The Legacy had received the call a couple of days ago and it had taken Nick that long to convince Derek that it was worth pursuing. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary haunted house mystery. Mysterious noises in the dead of night, cold spots, figures appearing and disappearing as realtors tried to show unsuspecting couples around the home, newspaper tales of a terrible murder committed there.

But Nick had picked up on the terror in Christina Moore’s voice as he’d played back her answer machine message time and time again. She was the granddaughter of the original owner, a wealthy businessman who’d been incarcerated in a mental hospital after his wife’s death. The newspaper articles Alex had dug up for him indicated that everyone at the time, including the police, had believed David Moore had murdered his wife but it was there the details became sketchy, and no charges were ever filed. But if the rumours were true then it would be an easy enough job for him to put the ghost of Catherine Moore to rest.

A blue Porsche appeared going at some speed up the driveway and skidded to a halt. Nick winced as he imagined the damage such regular treatment could do to the brakes.

But thoughts of the car disappeared all together when he caught sight of the owner.

Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her. There was something unconventional about the tilt of her head, her pointed chin, pouting lips and mass of long red hair that would ensure her always standing out in a crowd.

“Nick Boyle?” she asked and Nick shook himself and walked over to her, extending his hand.

“That’s right. You must be Miss Moore?” he asked.

She smiled widely, showing off perfectly white teeth and took his hand in hers. “That’s right. Pleasure to meet you. Though…” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the house. “I’d preferred it to have been in nicer surroundings.”

“Me too,” Nick replied. “But I’m sure this won’t take long. Are you sure you’re okay with going inside?”

“Yes.” She nodded determinedly. “I need to find out what happened here.”

“Even if it means finding out your grandfather was a murderer?”

“Even then,” she replied. “If that’s the only way to get rid of the house for good, then you’re really my last hope. It preys on my mind, having this here – I can’t explain it…” She sighed and looked down at the ground, apparently steeling her nerves. “So, lead the way, Mr Boyle.”

Nick did so, patting the back of his jacket to reassure himself that his gun was in place. Chances were it wouldn’t do any good against whatever it was they were facing but he felt better just knowing he was locked and loaded. Once a S.E.A.L., always a S.E.A.L.

“You guys do this all the time, huh?” Christina asked.

Nick smiled back at her reassuringly. “We have some experience in this line, yes. The Luna Foundation likes to help out when we can.”

Christina nodded thoughtfully and they carried on walking up the driveway in silence. Christina was keeping her eyes on the house, pulling her coat close against the December chill. Nick was doing the opposite, his eyes darting around the drive and into the trees that lined either side; he already knew danger lay inside the house, it was surprises outside that he was on the lookout for.

But it just seemed like a perfectly ordinary, if dilapidated, house. Until Christina stood on the top step.

Nick immediately pulled out his gun as the door swung open and every light in the house switched on. Piano music raised to a crescendo greeted them and then turned into a familiar Christmas tune.

Nick glanced over at Christina, whose face was deathly white. “Just stay behind me,” he told her and she nodded abstractedly. Her gaze was fixed on the inside of the house.

Nick edged forward a little and peered inside. Revellers dressed in their finest were enjoying a party – a Christmas party given the tree, the carollers and the decorations now festooned around the once empty room. The lights were unnaturally bright and cast festive shadows against the wall.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Christina whispered. “The night my grandmother was killed?”

“It could be,” Nick agreed, edging further into the room. “Why don’t you…” But before he could finish his sentence the door slammed shut behind him, cutting him off from Christina.

“Nick!” Christina yelled, banging at the door.

“Christina!” Nick pulled at the door, but to no avail. “Get away! Call Derek Rayne.” He could just about make out her hurried footsteps along the gravel path and braced himself as he turned around. All the ghostly eyes were now on him.

He was well and truly trapped.

* * * * *

Nick kept a tight grip on his gun, even though he knew the weapon would be useless against a roomful of ghosts. Still, it made him feel better.

The music starting up again startled him; he hadn’t been consciously aware that it had stopped. And it was then he realised that he had been mistaken. All eyes weren’t on him, but the couple standing half-hidden in the alcove by the door. Nick stepped cautiously further into the room to get a better look.

“Thank you so much,” the woman was saying. She seemed to be expensively dressed, at least in regards the little Nick knew about female accoutrements. “As usual you have all made our Christmas Eve party a night to remember. Now it is time for our littlest guests to head to bed.” Several children groaned loudly. “Santa won’t visit if you’re awake you know.” Cue gentle laughter from the adults. “And the grown-ups will prepare for the main performance.” A smattering of applause followed this announcement.

Nick moved easily around the ghostly figures, none of whom seemed able to sense his presence, aside from the occasional raising of goosebumps put down to the drafty hallway. They were playing in a loop he guessed, reliving the evening when Catherine Moore had been murdered.

He examined Catherine closely, for there was no doubt in his mind that the speaker was Christina Moore’s grandmother; the resemblance between the two of them was really quite striking now he could see her clearly.

“Ladies, if you’d like to follow me into the parlour. Gentlemen, if you would excuse us.”

Nick watched her saunter past him, the ladies spreading out behind her like ducklings following their mother. The men stayed where they were.

The parlour was as grand as the entryway had been. A large chandelier hanging from the ceiling lit up the octagonal table in the middle of the room, decked out for a séance.

Nick frowned. Dealing with one set of ghosts was going to be bad enough, he wasn’t sure what he could do if anymore were summoned. And as far as he knew none of the reports about the murder had mentioned a séance as part of the attraction.

“Dear, could I take you away for a moment?” David Moore called to his wife. She nodded and smiled to her guests but dropped the pleasant demeanour immediately once she was facing her husband.

Nick followed anxiously, his eyes darting about the room. He hoped that Christina had managed to get hold of Derek and the others. Although the ghosts didn’t appear particularly hostile at the moment – they were after all simply reflections of the last hours of the violence that coated the walls of the house – there was nevertheless an undercurrent of menace that was only gathering strength.

As the Moore’s walked into what Nick could just make out as the kitchen, Catherine turned around and looked Nick directly in the eye.

“You are not welcome here.”

Before Nick had the chance to react a high pitched shrieking noise had him gripping his head in agony even as a strong wind sprung up from nowhere and he was flung against the nearest wall, his body hitting it with a resounding thwack.

And then the world went dark.

* * * * *

When Nick awoke the whole house was as dark as when he’d first arrived. He hurriedly checked his watch, assuming that many hours must have passed – but no, it seemed he’d only been unconscious for about fifteen minutes.

Rubbing at his head, and muttering about “danger pay” under his breath he started to stand up. He gripped the wall for balance as the floor began to swim before his eyes but it didn’t take too long for him to regain his footing – this was hardly the first time he’d been knocked unconscious on the job.

He gingerly prodded at his ribs but they seemed more bruised than broken. Rachel would be able to patch them up soon enough once he got back to the Island. If he ever got out of here, that is.

He padded towards the front parlour that was now deserted of guests. Tables of food were covered in thick layers of dust, moth eaten curtains hung from the windows; it looked like something out of Dickens.

A low moaning set him immediately on edge. He reached for his gun, only to realise that it was gone. Cursing the loss, even though he knew bullets would ultimately be ineffectual, he headed towards the sound.

On the bottom step of the grand staircase sat a dishevelled looking man – David Moore – head in hands and rocking back and forth.

Nick stayed in the shadows, watching him. Was this a case of remorse after he had already killed his wife? Or was it nerves – steeling himself up for murder?

“There’s no point crying about it,” Catherine said scornfully from her spot at the top of the stairs. _So, not dead yet then. So to speak._ “I have made my decision. _We_ have made our decision.”

She turned around and took hold of the hand of the man that had appeared behind her. Nick frowned – the man seemed vaguely familiar from Alex’s notes, but he couldn’t place why. He certainly had never come up as Catherine’s lover.

“He’s your _brother!”_ David cried, standing up and facing the pair.

Nick took a step back in surprise. This was a new development.

“Step-brother,” Catherine corrected smugly, though Nick didn’t think that was much of help. He tried to remember what he’d learned from the available newspaper clippings about Blake Mallowan, but other than the fact that he had made an astonishingly large fortune in a short space of time, he was drawing a blank.

“That doesn’t make it right! How can you do this to me? I thought we were happy? What about Mary? What about our _daughter?”_

Catherine smiled. “She’ll be coming with us.” Behind her Blake made a disgusted face. “You will just have to accept it is over, David.”

“I won’t grant you a divorce.”

Catherine shook her head. “I have lawyers too. There’s nothing you can do to stop us. I have already made the necessary arrangements. I pulled all my investments from your companies weeks ago. You have nothing.”

David Moore spluttered and looked ready to strangle his wife. Nick automatically braced himself, although he knew full well that he couldn’t prevent a murder that had already happened.

“You’re completely ruined,” Blake Mallowan said with a great deal of amusement. “Just like you ruined me when you took Catherine and her money away from me. Money which should have been mine if Father hadn’t been such a snivelling old fool.”

“Blake!” Catherine exclaimed, pulling away from him. “What are you saying?”

Blake laughed and the house echoed with it. “You really think I’d want to spend the rest of my life with you? Or that brat you spawned?”

Before Catherine could as much as scream Blake pulled out a knife and stabbed her in the chest. Red blood seeped through his white dress as she fell to the floor.

“My God!” David gasped, rushing up the stairs and then halting as he saw the glint of the knife in Blake’s hand. “You’re mad! Completely mad,” he cried, backtracking quickly. Catherine weakly stretched out a hand towards him before her head fell limply upon her chest.

“I’m her next of kin,” Blake said triumphantly. “All her money will go to me.”

“I’m her next of kin, not you,” David spluttered, walking backwards so that he nearly collided with Nick. “And Mary,” he whispered, casting a frightened look up to the top part of the house where no doubt the child’s bedroom was located.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be well taken care of by her Uncle Blake. Just think of the poor child,” he said as he began to descend the stairs. “Mother murdered, father locked up in an asylum. Thank goodness she has someone to look after her.”

“No, no,” David muttered, casting around vainly for a weapon of his own.

“Here, use this,” Blake said. He pressed the bloodied knife into David’s hands and wiped off the blood on his own hands onto David’s jacket.

“Oh, Uncle Blake.”

Nick turned at the words and saw that Christina Moore was standing in the doorway, Derek and Alex on either side of her.

They watched in silence as David Moore sank to the floor and his ghost vanished and then as Blake Mallowan’s ghost headed upstairs, no doubt to raise the sleeping Mary.

“He used to tell me about that night. How he’d come back to the house after the party because he’d forgotten his lighter. That he found Nana Catherine dead and David raving. I never…I never thought for a minute…He was always so good…”

“Greed overcomes many a man’s innate goodness,” Derek told her.

“At least you know the truth now,” Alex said, patting her comfortingly on the arm. “Can’t you feel it? The house has given up its secrets. It’s content.”

Nick looked around and nodded to himself. Alex was right. Although still gloomy, the oppressiveness of the house had gone. It no longer felt as suffocating as it had when he and Christina had first arrived.

“Thank you,” Christina said to Derek and Alex. Then she turned to Nick. “Especially you, Nick. If you hadn’t come out here, I may never have known the truth.”

Nick smiled ruefully. “Well, I didn’t really do anything…”

“Sometimes bearing witness is all that is needed for troubled spirits to be laid to rest,” Derek interrupted. He smiled at the younger man. “You sensed you could help, and you did. I’d say that was a good day’s work indeed.”

Nick smiled in return and winced as Christina came over and gave him a hug.

“Are you hurt?” she asked worriedly.

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Just a little bruised.”

Derek and Alex exchanged knowing glances. Nick’s ideas of bruising were most people’s broken bones.

“In that case I suggest a detour to Rachel’s office before we head back to the Island.”

Nick opened his mouth to argue against it, but then nodded his head resignedly. There were just some things you didn’t fight, and Derek’s current expression was one of them.

As they left the building Nick glanced back and for a fraction of a second he thought he caught a glimpse of a woman in white smiling at him. But she was gone, just as quickly as she’d appeared.


End file.
